The Shark
by Setalina Muro
Summary: One-shot. He was there every week at that little bar where she worked. Always passed closing time, always alone. But he was good at what he did. Pity all life’s problems aren’t resolved as easily as a game of pool. Supportshipping


**The Shark**

**Summary:** One-shot He was there every week at that little bar where she worked. Always passed closing time, always alone. But he was good at what he did. Pity all life's problems aren't resolved as easily as a game of pool. Supportshipping

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh or any places, people and/or other things you are familiar with from the show or anything else. This plot, however, and all other plots posted under this user name, is mine.

**A/N:** I'm not really sure why, but since I found this the other day while cleaning, and I just read Yamiko's note on her profile, I feel the need to encourage her that there does still exist some manner of decent writers out and about. (Mind you, this says nothing for my hiatus, but, hey, I'm _trying_).

On top of that, I've wanted to put up a decent Supportshipping fic for ages.

By the way, I know _nothing_ about pool lingo. So if something sounds off, and you know pool quite well, that's why.

**Notes on the Story: **

Anzu's POV.

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**The Shark

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**

"You're pretty good," I say as the brisk '_tak tak tak'_ rings around the empty air.

"I guess," is his ever familiar, short reply. I suppose one could call it banter; the sort of thing that happens all the time. This mysterious man with the pointed brown hair comes in every week. Friday at 3:30 am, well passed closing time. The only ones left inside the bar are myself, doing the cleaning after the rush of drunkards and partying students from the university out for the weekend has come and gone, and my boss, Jounouchi, out in the back tallying up the earnings for the night and sorting out the tips he owes me.

The stranger peels off his brown jacket and rolls up his sleeves. Time for round two. He collects the balls from their pockets and racks them up, always green '14' in the front. He dusts a thin layer of chalk across the tip of his cue stick and takes his mark.

I pause in my cleaning and lean on the bar to watch him. The first shot runs straight down the middle of the table, clattering loudly as three balls go careening into their pockets. Brown orbs narrow as he observes the setup, looking for his next among the scattered spheres. He pulls another triple, and then strikes down a solitary '11', wandering around on its own. Soon enough, he's beaten down all the stray balls, and only two balls remain: the '8' sits, waiting to be tucked away in a pocket to the right. And the ivory and green of number '14' stares at him, and he looks right back before…**SMACK!**

He misses the mark.

"That's too bad," I say. "Almost a perfect game."

"Almost," he mutters, mouth turned down in a small frown. With a sigh, he takes his gaze from the table for the first time tonight and rubs the back of his head. He looks to me, and I find his unfamiliar gaze almost pleading. Must be a bad night. "Would you mind?"

"Whiskey sour?" I smile and flip over a glass. "Of course not."

As I mix the whiskey with lemon juice and sugar, I ponder over the stranger at the pool table. We were never introduced. Jounouchi just let him in one night, and it seems to me now that he was always here. Secretly, I call him _The Shark_. I've never seen a man play pool the way he does. I think my Friday nights would be very lonely without him here.

He smiles as I walk the finished drink to him (shaken, over ice, cherry, no orange), and I relish in something other than that hard, focused look stealing into his amber eyes. He reaches for the glass in my hand, but I shake my head, pulling away and smiling as I dance the drink away from him.

"Nuh-uh," I tease. "Sink that ball," I say, gesturing toward the '14'. "You've obviously got some devil you're fighting with that ball to always leave it for last."

His eyes narrow for a moment, but a small, cocky smile still plays on his lips as he takes his stance.

The delightful, solitary crack echoes again as the ball rebounds once and then finds a home in the corner.

"Mine," he says, taking the drink from my hand, and I laugh, sauntering around his table.

I take the triangle rack in my hands and twirl it a bit as he sets the drink aside and positions himself to pocket the black '8' ball. The cue rolls quietly as its target teeters on the brink, then falls.

"Why aren't you ever in here while there are others to play with?" I ask him. "You're good. You could beat all of the people that come in here easily."

"I like it better like this," he says, following me around the table. "I like the quiet…and the company." He pauses for a minute, looking at me. "Do they really call you peaches because of how you sing up there?" He nods toward the stage. "Or do you taste that sweet?"

In the dim light, I feel the blush cross my face and I look away from him, unable to hide the shy smile that his words bring to my face. I grab a pool cue to put between us as he steps forward and push it against his chest. "Teach me to play," I fight back a giggle. "And maybe you'll get an answer to that."

"Oh?" He says, moving around me to grab the cream-colored cue ball. "I've been coming here for months." One of his hands gently ghosts my waist. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I've been watching you play for months in silence," I retort, turning to follow his movements. "Why the sudden response?"

He laughs loudly, continuing to circle me. "Touché. So how about another question then, Anzu, if you're shy to answer that one. I know you don't know my name, but you have to call me _something_."

I shouldn't be surprised that he knows my name (he's my boss's friend, after all), but I am. "So you do pay attention to other things while you play," I say. "Should I be impressed?"

"No," he responds, abandoning me in favor of his drink. "I'm just curious."

I dig into the pocket behind and pull out the '14' that seems to haunt him so. My fingers curl around the edges and I examine it, eyeing him shyly over its curves.

"What is it about this ball?" I ask, dodging another of his questions.

"That ball?" He chuckles softly beneath his breath. "The devil I'm fighting?"

I wasn't expecting him to move forward as quickly as he does, and I gasp a little as his arm wraps around my waist and he me presses me back against the table.

I feel a trill of excitement and a sudden rush of adrenaline and I bend back against the green felt of the pool table, nearly sitting on the cherry wood.

He keeps close as he leans down on top of me, skin touching and his lips finding their way to my ear.

"You're my devil," he whispers, heated breath sending a shiver down my spine. "And I was shooting the number '14' the night I first heard you laugh, and haven't gotten you out of my head since." He pulls back and stares into my wide eyes for a moment, then hesitates, his grip on me loosening as he takes the '14' from my hand and moves away.

"Where are you going?" I manage to choke out, bringing myself back onto my shaking legs. My heart stutters as I reach out to grab his arm, not wanting him to leave just yet. My stomach turns with the anticipation he has let lose in me.

He looks at me blankly for a moment, no doubt taking in my flushed face and already uneven breath.

"You know," I say, pulling him back toward me. "If you walk away so easily, you get stuck with more devils than you have billiards to represent. And you'll never get your questions answered."

I grab his collar and bring him down to me, fusing my lips to his. I can taste the whiskey on his breath as he slowly takes control and moves me back against the table again.

"So answer me then," he growls, moving to trail kisses down my throat.

"The Shark," I whisper breathlessly and he chuckles against my collar bone.

"Honda will work better," he says, capturing my mouth again.

The '14' ball slips from his hand as he tangles his fingers in my hair, rolling slowly down the table, now off-balanced by our weight against it. I only vaguely note its sounds as it ghosts across the felt.

And green '14' landed quietly in the corner pocket.

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**The End**

**A/N:** I typed this up and realized I've really never done much with Honda in _any_ of my stories. He feels a tad bit OOC to me here, since he's a point of focus, it strikes me as obvious. But ooooooh well. But he can be a pool shark. That I could totally see. Not a card shark, seeing as how he couldn't even sneak onto Duelist Kingdom without looking nervous as hell. Ha.

I wrote out the numbers on the ball for visual purposes. I feel like it fills in the imagery more to say "Number '11' ball" than "Number eleven". That will be my creative license for this piece.

At any rate, hope you enjoyed and please review!


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